


Happy Birthday

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Dean, Fingerfucking, First Time, M/M, Male Multiple Orgasm, Prostate Milking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wants sex for his birthday; Dean doesn't think he's ready. An argument ensues and it turns out he's not, but on his next birthday... Well, maybe he's just a natural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine (and Jesus Le Fuck there is prolly a lot) basically, I was given a prompt on Tumblr which was, in essence: Wincest, they don't always do birthdays and when they do, they go all out. Generally, this story has little to no artistic merit and was entirely a cracker on which to spread the peanut butter of Sam's youth (and Dean's legs) but, either or. Altogether, it has Sam pulling a bitch!face moment for reasons and for bonus, an unlikely case of spontaneous male mutiples, hurrah for prostate touching!
> 
> Come join me on [Tumblr](http://buttsexandwaffles.tumblr.com) For shortfics, prompts, artwork, Recs and more!

* * *

**Sixteen**.

 

   Sam wanted Dean to fuck him.

   That was the long and short of it, he didn't want cake, he didn't want presents. He just wanted a shitty motel bed and a continuation of what seemed like a lifetime of go-nowhere make out sessions. Sure, there had been a handy or two, a happened-once blowjob, but that wasn't what he wanted. He had an itch that Dean could scratch and he wouldn't, so fine.

   "You already know what I want for my birthday, Dean." Sam looked up from his school book, "And you won’t give it to me, so don't worry about it.”

   "Because you can't just ask for that!”

   "I know. So, like I said, don't worry about it."

   "Sam, look.” Dean sighed, “It’s just that you shouldn’t be-”

   "Making decisions for myself?"

   "No, making decisions for both of us. Maybe I don't want-” Dean paused, that wasn’t going to come out right so he tried something a little less combative. “Maybe I want to wait, fuck. Just drop it!”

   “Dean, I sucked your dick this morning.” Sam turned, “So don’t tell me I’m not old enough and that’s why, because I know that has nothing to do with it. If you don’t want to, just say so and that’s fine.”

   “It’s not about that!”

   “Yeah, what then?”

   “Sam-”

   “Man, what is it with you? You asked what I wanted and I told you.” Sam pointed an accusatory finger, “It’s not like we usually do birthdays anyway. I mean what do you want me to ask for, a pony?”

   “I don’t know, something normal?” Dean raked his hands through his hair, frustrated. “A bottle of jack, a skinmag a- I don’t know, a new pair of Reeboks or something!”

   "Fine.” Sam practically spat. “If you wanna do something normal, I want every birthday I never got because we spent it hacking up monsters and picking blood out of our hair, how about that?"

   And when Dean didn’t say anything Sam was too busy being angry to care.

 

 **Seventeen**.

 

   Sam woke up feeling miserable.

   He shouldn't have been such a jerk because really, what was he asking for? To get railed by his brother. Yeah, sure, they had done other stuff but that didn’t mean anything. Realistically, Dean was going to keep hunting and Sam wasn’t. The things they did, the things that made Sam's stomach drop and made him think he knew exactly what love was, those would end. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t, but then nothing was ever fair so far as they were concerned. Maybe the reason he kept pushing so damn hard was just so that in the end, he would have something to hold onto.

   But whatever the reason, he knew he had been an asshole. It wasn’t Dean’s fault they were poor or that they moved around, hunted monsters, lived some crazy-backwards stupid life. It wasn’t his fault that Sam wanted what he did or that he had all along. Everything in their lives was just so fucked up and the way they were irrevocable and incestuously tangled in one another, well, that was just a part.

   Dragging himself out of bed, Sam got dressed and when he got to the kitchen, he didn’t expect Dean to be up, but he was. He yawned and then his nose caught up with him, "Did you make pancakes, man?"

   "Chocolate chip, just like you wanted."

   Sam frowned, "Huh?"

   "Quote-unquote Sam Winchester age four, all I want for my birthday is chocolate chip pancakes."

   "Really?"

   "Yup." Dean was acting strange, but Sam bit his tongue. What he'd said, god... He couldn't take that back, he'd just been so angry! Maybe and with any luck, it would blow over. Guiltily, he sat down.

   "Thanks."

   "Yeah, no problem. Save a bit of room, though."

   "Why?"

   "Sam Winchester age six, all I want for my birthday is an ice-cream sundae as big as my face and-" Dean turned, set down his spatula and pointed at the table, "What's in that box."

   "Huh?" Sam glanced left. "What's that?"

   "Dunno, open it."

   Sam did. "Is this…?”

   "A junior science kit, microscope included."

   "God,” Sam stared at the box. “I must have wanted one of these for..."

   "A year and a half." Dean said blandly, "And Dad'd got you one 'cause I said to, but, kinda got squashed when the whole Bogey thing went down."

   "Wow, I can't believe you even- you know what, thanks, man. It's great."

   Sam couldn't believe he'd been so selfish and it was killing him inside.

   "Well, eat up, got the rest of your tragic childhood to celebrate." Dean said cheerily, "Do you remember what you wanted for your seventh birthday?"

   "Uh…” What had he wanted? “The zoo?"

   "Bingo."

   And that was how the day went- the zoo, then the aquarium, a magic show, a restaurant that they couldn't pronounce the name of but it had Escargot and when he was ten, Sam had wanted to try it. Ice cream cart, early showing of some zombie flick because that was eight and eleven. Dinner was a chicken grill with no sauce and a salad on the side because for his thirteenth birthday, all he'd wanted was to stop eating greasy diner crap for once. Cringing at how immature he'd been, Sam ate in silence and Dean maintained the same creepy cheer he had since breakfast. When they were done eating, Dean paid the bill and they walked home hand in awkward hand because at fifteen, all Sam had wanted was to pretend that Dean was his boyfriend instead of his weirdo freak of brother.

   Sam was too old to cry but when they got home, maybe he wanted to.

 

   Sitting dejectedly on the bed, Dean said something about grabbing a quick shower and Sam could feel his face burning but that didn't matter, he needed to get it out. "Dean, wait."

   "What, something wrong Sammy? I know we couldn't manage the balloon ride."

   "Dean-"

   "Or the puppy, but y'know, we travel so-"

   "Dean!"

   "Yes?"

   "I'm sorry."

   "For what?" Dean glared down at him and Sam bit his lip, because he recognized that expression; the one that said: I’m so angry I could spit blood, but I’m still in control. Dean was pissed, and he had every right to be.

   "For everything, okay? I shouldn't have asked you to- I mean, that's not something you give somebody as a gift and all this- today, God it was..."

   Dean remembered his whole life, everything! It was perfect, to the very last detail, or would have been if he hadn't ruined it before it started.

   "I really am sorry, Dean."

   "Good."

   "What?"

   "You fucking should be, Sammy. If you think for five seconds I don't give a shit about you, I do. I remember everything you've ever wanted, everything you've ever accomplished, every time you told me you hated me because Dad was gone and I had to tell you to eat or wash and go to bed." Dean sucked in a breath, "And you know what, sometimes it's hard to forget that shit."

   Sam blinked.

   "Do you know what it’s like to want to do everything you want me to and still remember how you- man, everything! That time you yacked in gym? They didn't even bother calling Dad, they just pulled me out of class and I took you home. Do you know how many times I’ve done that for you? All of them!"

   Sam's swallowed the lump in his throat.

   "And what happens the next time you pull this shit? If you want us to do something like that, I need to know you can act like a fucking grown-up and so far, it’s been your shoe-size."

   And what was he supposed to say to that, because Dean was right. He'd been a selfish jerk. Dean had given him literally everything, his whole life, and when he asked for that one, taboo thing more? He gave him that too. All the times he'd been mad that Dean wouldn't, they melted away and he wasn't sure what to do with the empty spaces. "Dean, I'm sorry. I mean, really sorry. I just- I didn't think, okay? I was a-" He took a heaving breath, "A big jerk. A big, selfish jerk and I didn't even think you might not want-"

   "I want to, dumbass. But I don't want to be another fucking phase, either. Do you know how long you wanted the magic kit? Three weeks. The pancakes? Twenty-four hours. All the other crap- with the exception of the science kit because you're a ginormous geek- it was temporary. So, don't ask for something that big if it's not going to last. You're not talking about a present and I'm not talking about some-" Dean made a frustrated gesture, "High school chick in a broom closet. That’s just stupid, in-the-moment shit. You and me are-“

   “Forever.”

   Sam looked at his shoes, but he didn’t miss the way Dean’s head snapped around or the way the anger evaporated from his face. He got it, he really did. He had been a complete dick and of course Dean wouldn’t put up with it, he shouldn’t have to. When he looked back up, Dean was holding out a key.

   “Here.”

   “What’s this?”

   “Our hotel room.”

   “Our...” Sam’s brain stalled, “Our what?”

   “First, I’m not going to fuck you in some shitty-assed motel room because you’re having a temper tantrum and second, I’m not going to do it before you’re eighteen end of story.”

   “Then what is-“

   Dean’s side-smile rolled over in Sam’s belly like it always did. “I’m saying you get to make a man out of me, Sammy.”

   Sam was so nervous he actually thought he might be sick.

   All that time he’d been pushing for Dean to- well, do _that_ , he hadn't really focused on anything but being told no. It wasn't even about the sex so much as proving he was mature enough and suddenly more than anything, he wanted to rewind the clock and stick to sloppy blow-jobs when they could steal the time and bathroom handys when they couldn't.

   Dean was going to have sex with him!

   Or, he was going to have sex with Dean. Realistically it didn't matter but when he slid the key into the door of their hotel room and saw the pristinely folded sheets and didn't smell that crunchy, brown motel smell, he realized how big it was. Had they ever been naked together? Tons of times, but when they touched one another, it was always a risk and so, they were never... Close like that, never!

   "Alright, big boy." Dean slid out of his jacket, "Show me your moves."

   "Dean, I don't..." Sam swallowed, he felt like he was suddenly twelve and tried to shake it off, be like Dean would want him. "How do you want it?"

   "Good line." That same stomach-flop grin. “But you’re driving the bus, you figure it out."

   "Okay."

   Okay? What the hell was he thinking? He wasn't thinking! He wasn't anything until he collided with Dean's mouth, kissed him like he thought he should and felt the grounding familiarity of a hundred other kisses before it. He knew how to make-out, so maybe he should just start there.

   "Yeah- yeah, like that."

   Dean was rock hard in his jeans and Sam could feel it. Okay, all according to plan; button, zipper, pants. He knew those steps. Kept kissing because if Dean didn't talk, he could lose himself in the slop of their mouths, hot breath and hard cocks. He already knew what it felt like to swallow Dean’s come, suck him until he blew all over his cheeks and chin. Baby steps, just do what he knew, all according to plan.

   Which was why Sam surprised himself when he said shakily, “Dean… I- I don’t think I’m ready.”

   “I know you’re not, shortjack.” Dean didn’t sound disappointed. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

 

**Eighteen.**

 

   “Jesus fuck! Sam- fuck, fuck-!” Damnit, Dean was loud!

   Sam’s hand was a blur and Dean was clawing at the sheets, cursing, swearing and desperate for more. Left-curve cock slapping against his belly and fuck, Sam hadn’t thought it would be that good. Every fantasy, every time he’d fucked himself, it was imagining Dean on top. Big, strong but nothing prepared him for the feeling he got making Dean make those noises. Like a filthy slut, writhing and wriggling and forcing little brother’s  hands that much deeper. Couldn’t be nervous four-fingers deep, couldn’t feel like a virgin with Dean making those sinful, succulent sounds.

   How the fuck had it even happened? Cake and dinner, a half-assed happy eighteenth birthday card he was pretty sure Dean had drawn driving, a couple of beers and suddenly, hard and hot kisses, door jam, hallway, bed. Like a haze- so fast he couldn’t trace the origin and fuck, he didn’t even care.

   He was ready, god, he’d never been more ready for anything.

   Schlup. Schlup. Schlup. So much lube that Dean was dripping with it, that Sam had spashback on his face. Sweat in his eyes, breath hard and heavy. He was just supposed to open him up, get him ready, but when Dean had clenched and keened, fucked back against his fingers, he wanted to make him do it again and again and again after that. Broad chest, pebbled nipples and all for him, owned- his! Every goddamn sun-kissed freckle and maybe he was still a selfish little brat, but when he angled his fingers and ripped his name from Dean’s throat like a prayer, he even didn’t care.

   “Sammy- fuck- please-!” Who would have thought Dean was beggar?

   “Want?” Crooking his fingers, Sam twisted and Dean bit down on his own knuckle. Sam was good- how, he wasn’t sure, but for all his gawk and gangle, his clumsiness, Jesus! Dean felt so stretched, so wide and wet and willing. He’d had apprehensions, sure- tensions, yeah, but that was because he was expecting it to be- “FUCK!”

   Sam’s hot little mouth was sinking down on his prick, fingers still drilling into him; tongue, teeth, an unguarded scrape across the head because he jumped and suddenly, he was fucking coming. Pulsing, shaking, like a gunshot and punch to the gut and the best goddamn feeling in the entire world because Sam’s whole fucking hand was just a thumbslide away and then… He felt so empty.

   “Can I?”

   “Wha-?”

   “Wanna, Dean…” Panting, Sam fisted his still-swollen prick. “Can I?”

   After that? Shit, he could have anything he wanted.

   Arch of the hips, tilt forward, and Sam swallowed hard because there was nothing more gorgeous than Dean forcing his thighs a little farther apart, letting him see the glisten and shine of his fucked-out hole. Jerked it a hundred times to imagination-Dean pulling him into his lap and pressing inside and this? It was better because he’d done it, made big brother come in his mouth, made him shake and sweat and  scream but, he’d learned his lesson; it wasn’t just about him all the time.

   Balls aching, Sam palmed his cock and shifted.

   “Should we wait- I mean, when you’re ready for another round…”

   “Don’t care.”

   “Dean-“

   "C'mon, Sammy." Dean’s voice was sultry, personified sin, "I'm tight. Satisfaction guarantee."

   “How do you-?” Sam stopped himself, “Okay.”

   “Hey! What are you d-” Dean didn’t even have time to finish before he was hauled into Sam’s lap, guided down, pressed against. Kid was hung like a fucking horse and Dean threw his head against his shoulder, breathed through the warmfire burn and realized that Sam wasn’t even fucking up into him- no, he didn’t have to. Sonofabitch was stronger than he looked, just raised him up and forced him down, met with a rock of his hips. Lost control, sense of self, raked his nails down Dean’s back and bit.

   Bruises, welts, teeth marks at his neck. Hard, rough, desperate and no time to waste on slow, Dean’s soft cock was mashed against Sam’s belly and he was losing everything to the intensity, the speed.

   Sweat, salt, slick, sin and Sam was moaning Dean-Dean-Dean into his neck, pulling his hair, nails moon-denting his scalp. Higher than he’d ever gone and Dean was trapped in the feeling, a strange pressure building in his belly, a base and blunting kind of force. God, felt like he could come again, had to if Sam kept-

   “SAM!” Fuck, something- anything, softcocked but again, so close! “Shit- more- harder!”

   “Gonna- gonna-!” It was too much too fast and Sam bit his lip, ignored the way his muscles screamed and his pelvis ached. He wanted to come so fucking bad, but Dean was tightening around him, was meeting his rhythm and something was happening- something- god- “FUCK!”

   And Dean was coming dry, balls drawn up tight. Felt like he was wrung out, like his body was sucking Sam deep. Bonelessly he sank down and Sam rocked him through it, pushed harder, faster, farther. Involuntary muscle response, tighten, spasm; moaned like a bitch for it, green-eyed little cockwhore. Dean’d come soft from having his ass spread wide and used rough and Sam didn’t know how much he’d wanted it that way until he shoved in closer, pumped him full of creamy-hot spunk and held him tight.

   For a quiet moment they panted against one another before Dean slid off wrecked and sticky, grinned into the space between and said, “Happy birthday, dumbass.”

   But what they both heard was: happy forever, Sammy. 


End file.
